


Cassian & Kaytoo in "Tatooine Trouble"

by Ewoklord



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 14:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14672832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ewoklord/pseuds/Ewoklord
Summary: When a Rebel-sympathizing diplomat goes missing in Hutt Space, Cassian Andor and K-2SO are sent to find out what she knows before the Empire does.





	1. Chapter 1

The man sat on a rusted metal crate, upending his boots to drain them of sand. He would never get used to the conditions of desert planets, plentiful as they were around the galaxy. They always made him think, in contrast, of the icy plains and mountains of his youth. Unpleasant in their own right, but he’d trade anything to be _there_ instead of _here_. He tapped the sole of his shoe forcefully with the palm of his hand a few times, hoping to dislodge any errant grains. Satisfied, he slipped the shoe back on.

            The large black droid, which had been watching the entire process curiously, slouched forward, gesturing towards the man’s feet.

            “Have you considered sandals?”

            The man smirked involuntarily as he tightened his laces. He stood, holstering the small blaster that lay on the crate next to him. The droid tilted his head, searching for photoreceptor-contact.

            “By my calculations, it would save you at least five minutes per planetary cycle.”

            “I would also look ridiculous, Kaytoo.”

            The droid turned to the door and approximated a sigh.

            “You are far too vain.”

            Blazing sunlight and accompanying heat washed in as the pneumatic door shunted open. The hovel they had been renting for their stay was located on the outskirts of town, unshielded from the frequent sand-storms, which explained the mound of granules that slowly poured its way into the room. The man shielded his eyes with his hand, peering once again into the city streets. Like most mornings, the usual bustle had just begun; vendors pulled their carts into the more profitable inner sectors, some with automated help and some without. A passing shadow offered brief respite from the glare of the sun as a freighter overhead made its way to the city’s starport.

            The droid, now standing outside, turned back to the man.

            “Do you think we will have any more luck today, Cassian?”

            He paused for a moment, long enough to give the impression of waiting for an answer, but short enough not to risk getting one.

“ _I_ do not,” he said, turning to the street.

            Cassian stepped over the mound, careful not to spill any sand into his freshly emptied boots.

            “Come on, Kaytoo,” he said, “He’ll have to come back some day.”

            “No, in fact, he does not. There is at least a sixty percent chance he has already left the system.”

            “We’ll just have to hope that’s not the case.”

            The droid paused. “I had not factored hope into the calculations,” he said. He stood still for a second, head tilting slightly as he recalculated. “Amend that, at least an eighty percent chance he has already left the system.”

            Cassian gave the droid a friendly thump on the back.

            “I’ll take those odds.”

            The odd pair made their way through the open streets of the city, keeping watch for Imperial patrols. Their path took them past the grand arena where old spacers claimed they held podraces, before the Empire put a stop to that. He remembered watching bootlegs of similar races in his youth; the speed and excitement was palpable even through the horrendous holo-compression. Another reason to resent the Empire, he thought.

            After a short stop at a small food-cart for an impromptu breakfast, the man and the droid turned the corner into the so-called “Night Life District.” Lined on both sides by restaurants, nightclubs, casinos and cantinas, the street looked considerably grungier in the daytime. Most of the establishments didn’t open until much later, but one sign shone insistently, day or night: _Flordan’s Bar_. The “F” didn’t shine quite as insistently as the rest.

            “Remember, stay out here, Kaytoo. We don’t want to spook him if he does arrive.”

            “Oh, yes. I am _so_ scary.”

            Cassian looked the droid up and down quickly. “You’re seven feet tall and painted entirely black.”

            “Well, that is not _my_ fault.”

            Cassian double-checked his holster before entering through the front door.

            “Have fun drinking without me,” Kaytoo called from behind him. “Again.”


	2. Chapter 2

Water seeped in through the bars of the unusually moist prison cell. The diplomat’s arm ached where it had been fractured, punctuated semi-often with sharp spurts of pain. Thankfully she still had three she could use. By her reckoning it was the tenth or eleventh day she’d been in this cell, it was difficult to keep exact track without any natural lighting, as well as being on a planet with a bi-solar cycle she wasn’t entirely familiar with. She pondered why she even attempted to keep track of the days, for it was only a matter of time before it just became depressing.

            The now-familiar squeals of her captors echoed down the hall of cells, bringing with them the daily meal. It was only a meal by the loosest of definitions. As her green, snout-nosed guard pushed the bowl towards her, she once again found herself resisting the urge to vomit. She peered into the bowl, covering her nose and attempting to discern anything that looked even slightly edible. A chunk of what looked to be a dianoga tentacle squirmed slightly near the edge of the broth, and she quickly plucked it out and swallowed it. It wasn’t the most pleasant sensation as it made its way down her long neck, but it _was_ food. She spent the next few minutes looking for anything half as edible, with only slight success.

            As she pushed the now half-empty bowl away, she heard another set of footsteps make their way down the hall. Not as plodding or ponderous as those of her guards, these steps sounded as if they were placed very deliberately. She knew these steps.

            The constantly sweaty Twi’lek slid into view, garbed entirely in black. His bulbous head-tails twitched lightly, wrapped around his neck like a grotesque scarf.

            “ _Ta Grancha Jabba naga tah stuka chuba,_ ” he said in the only language he seemed to speak. Inconveniently, it wasn’t one that the diplomat understood, but she had heard this phrase enough times to know what it meant.

            She nodded, and the greasy Twi’lek fished a key from somewhere in his robes and opened the cell door. Like many times before, she was escorted through the labyrinthine tunnels of this ‘palace,’ wending their way up from the depths of the dungeon to what she figured functioned as a makeshift ‘throne room.’ She had tried to memorize the exact route they took her on to get to the throne room, but after the fourth visit she realized that each time the route was almost entirely different.

            This time it brought her through a large congregation of the black, spider-like beings that seemed to roam the halls freely, even at times passing by her cell in the dungeons. The way their orange brains hung, pulsing in the jars beneath their mechanical bodies unnerved the diplomat, and she tried not to look too closely at any of them as the mass parted to let the group through.

            Soon after, the Twi’lek led her into the familiar large throne room, which was currently littered with the prone, sleeping bodies of numerous alien species. In the dim distant end of the room, she could barely make out the large mass of flesh that sat in its customary place atop a moving platform. The Twi’lek ushered her onward, and the mass came into clearer view, gaining a sickly green color and a tail that wriggled back and forth slowly. Beneath two orange eyes set high in its slug-like form, a dripping tongue lolled lazily out of a wide mouth. To the form’s left stood a dull blue droid, caked with months’ worth of slime.

            The large orange eyes focused on the diplomat as she approached, and the slug’s tongue twitched sporadically. It bellowed something in the same unintelligible language as the Twi’lek, motioning its arms towards the diplomat. The droid stepped forward slightly.

            “The Jabba of Hutt once again urges you to divulge any information about his activities you have shared with your colleagues in the Senate,” it said in its metallic voice.

            Both the droid and the slug waited expectantly for an answer. The diplomat’s arm once again jolted with pain, but she did not allow herself to cry out. She levelled her eyes with the slug’s, and repeated what she had told him every time before.

            “I have told the Senate nothing. I _know_ nothing. I don’t understand why you refuse to believe me.”

            The first part was true, at least.

            The slug once again bellowed something unintelligible.

            “The Jabba of Hutt warns you that his patience wears thin. He is strongly tempted to let you serve as a snack for one of his multitudes of pets.”

            The diplomat had seen a selection of these on her many treks to the throne room. None of them seemed particularly pleasant to be consumed by.

            “I strongly advise that you let me return to the Senate at once. An official investigation into my disappearance will be launched shortly, if it hasn’t already. I highly doubt you want an Imperial platoon knocking on your door.”

            The slug laughed a deep, echoing laugh.

            “The Jabba of Hutt has no fear of the Empire.”


	3. Chapter 3

Standing aboard the bridge of the _Arquitens_ -class light cruiser, the Imperial officer used her sleeve to polish the new pip on her rank badge. _Agent_ , it informed any onlookers. A rank to be proud of. This assignment, however, was a different story. An entirely unimportant Xexto diplomat named Nel Dira had never appeared at her scheduled report on crime in the Outer Rim, and friends in the Senate had badgered the Imperial Security Bureau into an official investigation. Not a glamorous start for the ISB’s most promising new agent, she thought, but dues had to be paid.

            The desert planet loomed continually closer in the viewport, the light blue atmosphere forming a half-ring around the edge of the tan surface. Tatooine. A backwater if she’d ever seen one, but this is where the trail led. Reports placed bounty hunter Tharen Gol in the vicinity of the disappeared diplomat, and he’d recently resurfaced at local watering holes in the cities, if you could call them that, of Mos Espa and Mos Eisley.

            She moved forward, placing herself directly behind the helmsman. She always loved how her cream uniform contrasted with the black or grey of non-Intelligence personnel. Often non-intelligent personnel as well, she thought.

            “Helmsman,” she said, waiting for the man to transfer his focus from the complex trajectory calculations required in entering a planet’s atmosphere. The helmsman’s head turned slowly, eyes sticking to the dash a few seconds longer.

            “Agent Visant?”

            She couldn’t help but smile at the sound of her new title.

            “Put us down near Mos Espa,” she said, “I’d like to investigate there first.”

            “Right away, sir.”

            Agent Visant glanced out the front viewport one more time, then returned to her quarters. The door scanned her code cylinder as she approached, opening in time for her long stride to carry her through without pause. The small living quarters were largely unadorned, she hadn’t much time to settle in to her new assignment. On her desk sat a holophoto of another woman, one who looked much like Visant, but older. She wore a uniform in the more fluid, softer style of the Galactic Republic, and in her arms held a small child.

            Visant gave the holophoto a nod, and lay down on her bed. The provided mattress was much firmer than she preferred; she’d have to get another one moved in eventually. Her personal datapad pinged, notifying her of a received message. Rolling over on the bed, she grabbed the device, which lay face-down on a nearby table. The message was from a cousin, congratulating her on the recent promotion. News had apparently trickled down to her family in the mid-rim, it always took a couple cycles. The ship began to shake somewhat, signaling its entrance into the planet’s atmosphere.


	4. Chapter 4

The rebel’s eyes flicked from face to alien face as he nursed his Jawa Juice. The Bantha Burger he had ordered an hour or so ago sat half-eaten on the duraplast plate in front of him. He had tried to put on a hopeful face for Kaytoo’s benefit, but Cassian knew in his gut this mission was a failure. There wasn’t anything they could have done. He played enough Sabacc to know that sometimes you just got dealt a bad hand. But every time he thought of that Xexto out there, his gut tightened.

            He knew that at any point in time she could spill her guts, both literally and figuratively. She didn’t know enough about the Rebellion for that to be a real threat to the organization, but the results of her investigation were vital to the effort. And the only people who wouldn’t want her dead over that information were the ones looking for her. He sighed deeply and sunk into the cushions of the repurposed grav-couch. He again thumbed his commlink.

            “Seen anything Kaytoo?”

            “Nothing out here,” the voice replied, crackling from the compression. “How does it look in there?”

            “A real party, only it seems Gol didn’t get the invitation.”

            “Perhaps he is fashionably late?”

            Cassian sighed. “Maybe, Kaytoo. Keep me updated.”

            “I will do that.”

            Cassian fit the commlink snugly into its holster, before resuming his scan of the patrons. The bar was filled with a variety of species from throughout the galaxy, somehow without a single Bith. At least that made it easy to tell he was wasting his time. He took another short sip of his Jawa Juice. The back entrance of the bar shunted open, sticking about halfway, as it always did. Cassian turned to the noise, preparing to add another count to the “Not Tharen Gol” tally, but wait- Silhouetted by the light from outside, a familiarly bulbous head awkwardly shuffled its way into the room. Supported by a tall, lanky body, the being now made its way to the bar, head slowly turning to survey the room. Cassian was quick to note the heavy blaster pistol slung low on the Bith’s hip. He stood, placing his glass on the table next to the burger, and carefully unbuttoned the latch on his own holster.

            The Bith motioned the bartender over, asking the old Neimoidian for a hard liquor, any hard liquor. Cassian picked his way through the crowd, eyes fixed on the newcomer. He whispered into the commlink.

            “Kaytoo, I think I see him.”

            “Would you like me to subdue him?”

            “No, I’m going to talk to him. Stay outside.”

            “You never let me talk to them.”

            “Quiet, Kaytoo.”

            The seat next to the Bith was empty, and Cassian slid easily into it. He took a moment to ensure that his safety was off, before tapping his target’s shoulder.

            “Excuse me,” he said, affecting an accent reminiscent of the Expansion Regions, “but I just have to ask you something.”

            The Bith turned, his large dark eyes narrowing in annoyance. “What?”

            “I said, I just have to ask you something.”

            “No, I know that, I mean-” The Bith’s head turned to the sight of the bartender bringing out a bottle of Corellian Whiskey that looked about as aged as he was. After a moment, he focused his eyes back on the unwelcome intrusion. “Spit it out.”

            “Why, you wouldn’t happen to be Tharen Gol, _the_ Tharen Gol?”

            The Bith squinted suspiciously. “Who’s asking?”

            “Jif Gruben. I have a job you may be interested in.”

            Tharen shrugged and turned away. “Not taking jobs right now.”

            Cassian placed his hand on the mercenary’s shoulder, turning him back around. “It’ll be worth your while.”

            The Bith’s hand shot up, grabbing Cassian by the wrist. “I _said_ , I’m not taking jobs right now.”

            A small yellow light appeared on Cassian’s belt. _Not now Kaytoo!_ From it came a tinny voice.

            “Cassian! Stormtroopers!”

            The Bith looked down at the noise, momentarily confused. His eyes darted to the unclipped blaster hanging at Cassian’s side.

            “Who-?”

            Cassian reached for his blaster with his free hand, but not fast enough! Tharen pushed hard against Cassian’s chest, sending him tumbling from the seat. Gol reached for his own blaster, but Cassian’s foot shot out, spinning the chair. As Tharen attempted to extricate himself from the chair, Cassian stood up, once again reaching for his blaster. He levelled it at his target, saying “I don’t want to-”

            But Gol’s hands were once again too quick, batting the blaster’s barrel away and pulling Cassian in. A quick jab bloodied Cassian’s nose, but he responded with a headbutt, aimed at the divot in the alien’s forehead. Tharen staggered back, steadying himself on the counter. Cassian ducked to avoid the bottle of Corellian Whiskey aimed at his head, then launched himself into the still unsteady mercenary. His arms wrapped around the Bith’s neck, awkwardly attempting to force him into a headlock.

            “I just… want to… ta-”

            Cassian gasped as Gol’s fists found their target in his groin. Taking advantage of the loosened grip, Gol freed himself and kicked his assailant into the nearest table. Cassian attempted to get to his feet, but found no purchase, as he was suddenly hefted upwards by his armpits. A large Besalisk had grabbed him, and pinned his arms to his side. Cassian looked over to where Gol had been, and saw that he was in a similar predicament. The Besalisk’s hot breath smelled of overripe fruit.

            “No fightin’.”

            Cassian flailed his feet, to no avail. They wiggled about a few feet off the ground, kicking at air. The Besalisk gave him a hard squeeze, and Cassian got the picture. He relaxed, watching as the other bouncer hefted Gol over his shoulder. Patrons’ heads turned to watch as the two fighters were unceremoniously dragged to the entrance and deposited in the sand outside. Cassian noted with annoyance the granules that leaked into his boots, before rising to his feet. He and Gol both looked to the towering bouncers, who still stood in the doorway.

            “Don’t come back.”

            The door closed quickly, and the two outside eyed each other cautiously. Cassian caught his breath.

            “I just want to talk.”

            “That’s why you brought a blaster, huh?”

            “Necessary precautions.”

            “Thought I wouldn’t like what you had to say?”

            “Maybe. I need to know the whereabouts of Nel Dira. Thought you might know something about that.”

            “Nel Dira? Never heard of her.”

            Cassian’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t have time for this. I’m willing to pay you for this information.”

            “Pay me what? A private planet? A new identity? I’ll need them if I ever rat.”

            “I’m willing to-”

            Cassian’s eyes flashed to the side as he heard familiar loping footsteps approach.

            “Cassian!” Kaytoo said, coming to a stop, “I was trying to tell you about the Stormtroopers. Did you hear me?”

            “Yes, Kaytoo. I heard you.”

            “Good. Because they are right over there.” His arm lifted, pointing to a white-clad group turning the corner onto the street.

            “Stop right there,” the one in front said, “We’ll need to see your identification.”

            As the Stormtroopers approached, Cassian and Tharen’s eyes met. They nodded simultaneously. Gol turned to the Stormtroopers. “What’s this all about?”

            “We’re searching for fugitives from the Emperor’s justice. Please present your identification.”

            As the two spoke Cassian nodded to his droid companion, who then sidled up next to the troopers. The one in front turned to face him. “KX-series droid, why are you not at your post? What are you doing here?”

            The droid focused his photoreceptors downward. “Facilitating human-cyborg relations.” He grabbed the lead Stormtrooper by the arm, swinging him bodily into his comrades. The Stormtroopers released a collective exclamation of surprise as the mass of white armor tumbled and clanked to the sandy ground. Tharen Gol quickly grabbed for his blasters and fired them into the mound. Screams and groans emanated from the group as he picked off the prone troopers. Finished, he holstered one blaster and turned to the droid next to him.

            “Thanks.” From his belt, he pulled a small, round device: a restraining bolt! He slapped it onto Kaytoo’s chest, and it quickly magnetized. The droid judderingly attempted to face his friend.

            “Cassian!”

            “I see it Kaytoo!”

            Tharen sprinted from the scene, Cassian’s bolts exploding puffs of dirt at his feet. Cassian slowed as he passed Kaytoo, but the droid’s protestations spurred him onwards. “Go on, I have subroutines for this.”

            Cassian saw Tharen disappear around the corner of the bar, but he wasn’t out of sight for long. Turning the corner, Cassian ducked out of the way as a swoop-bike bearing his target nearly took his head off. He spun to watch the bike go, but his eyes landed on a two-seated speeder slowly cruising down the main road. He ran to it, launching himself onto its hood with a thud.

            “Sorry.” He swung his legs into the driver’s seat, forcing the Chadra-Fan pilot from the vehicle with a squeak. The swoop-bike was still visible down the road, though the distance was growing every second. He floored the accelerator. Gol turned back to laugh at his defeated pursuer, but was surprised to see the two-seated speeder bearing down on him. Anxious to preserve his lead, he turned left into a convenient side-road, aiming to lose him in the streets. Cassian dumped power into the speeder’s repulsors and angled himself at the mass of short buildings to his left. The speeder rose quickly, clearing the buildings and cutting across the block diagonally. Below him, he could see the swoop-bike turning repeatedly as it navigated the maze of side-streets.

            Gol turned towards the source of the loud, mechanical whine, and was greeted with the sight of a large speeder hovering above the buildings behind him. He rocketed down a straightaway, barely missing a passing merchant’s cart, and set his sights on the outskirts of town. Cassian knew that once they got out of the city he would be left behind in a cloud of dust, so he un-holstered his blaster and tried to get a bead on his fleeing target. He was moving far too fast. The barrel of Cassian’s blaster flared red, and a chunk of wall to the swoop-bike’s right exploded in a flash. It was no use; he’d have to figure something else out. The whine from his repulsors increased in both intensity and pitch; they were overloading. He eased back on them and the speeder dropped to ground-level.

            The swoop-bike made one last turn into entrance plaza of the city, sending crowds of bystanders scrambling for safety. Cassian arrived seconds later.

            “Move! Move! Get out of the way!”

            Thankfully the crowds had slowed his quarry as well. But not enough! Gol cleared the entrance of the city, speeding out into the desert wastes beyond. Cassian punched the repulsors up once again, their whine grated his ears as they lifted the speeder above the crowd. He pushed himself up from the seat and stepped over the windshield, coming to a kneel on the hood. Seconds wasting, he extended his blaster to sniper configuration and brought the scope to his eye.

            He centered it on the bike, still hoping to take Gol alive.

            He thumbed the aim-correction button, which locked onto the bike’s heat signature.

            He took a half breath.

            The recoil punched the rifle’s butt into his shoulder. In the distance, the bike spun out of control, tumbling into a dune.

            The whine from the speeder’s repulsors reached an eardrum-piercing crescendo, before cutting out entirely. Cassian found the floor drop out from beneath him as his borrowed speeder plummeted to the street below. The air rushed from his lungs as he landed hard on the hood. He rolled off into the sand.


	5. Chapter 5

“What do you mean they haven’t reported back?”

          Agent Visant wheeled to face her black-clad communications officer. The flat city of Mos Espa stretched out ahead of the _Arquitens_ , a thousand feet below. The communications officer seemed somewhat confused by her question.

          “I-… they haven’t reported back, sir. We sent them on patrol but lost contact 10 minutes ago.”

          “Where did we lose them?”

          “They were heading to the entertainment district. Sir.”

          Visant scoffed at the idea of worthwhile ‘entertainment’ on a backwater such as this. “Send another squad. And contact local authorities.”

          “They haven’t been cooperative so far, sir.”

          “Well then let’s see if we can’t convince them to be more welcoming. Land close to their headquarters, I would like to have a word.”

          “Right away, sir.”


	6. Chapter 6

“ _Cassian…_ ”

            His vision blinked in and out of focus as his body shifted gently.

            “ _Cassian…_ Are you alive?”

            He groaned.

            “You seem to be in pain. Good. That is preferable to being dead.”

            The large black droid came into focus, standing above him. The droid pulled himself up to its full height. “Imperial business,” he broadcasted loudly to the gaggle of onlookers, “Please go about your business.” He reached down and grabbed Cassian’s arm to pull him to his feet. Cassian dusted himself off.

            “Thanks, Kaytoo.”

            “Were you successful in your pursuit?”

            “Let’s find out.”

            The pair made their way through the crowd, Kaytoo’s repeated exclamations of “Imperial business” sent bystanders scurrying out of the way. When they reached the entrance of the city, Cassian stopped to pull out his quadnoculars. He focused them on the smoke rising in the distance. “It’s not looking promising.”

            “I concur.”

            Minutes later, they arrived at the scene. The swoop-bike had tumbled end over end, and it looked like its rider’s foot had caught in a strap. Consequently, Tharen lay next to the smoking husk, foot still in strap, neck and limbs splayed at awkward angles.

            “Congratulations!” Kaytoo exclaimed. “You stopped his escape.”

            “We were supposed to ask him about Nel Dira.”

            Kaytoo looked down at the still body. “Where is Nel Dira?”

            There was no reply.

            “It appears he does not know.”

            “I could tell.”

            Cassian plopped down on the non-smoking part of the wreck and, one at a time, emptied his boots of sand. He looked at the body and sighed. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go at all. He wasn’t sure what to do next.

            “What should we do next?” his companion asked.

            “Whatever passes for local authority will probably be looking for us. As well as the new Imperial presence. I don’t know, Kaytoo.” He stood and stretched his legs, and then he approached the body. “You should have just answered my questions.” He nudged the Bith’s face with his foot, turning it to the side. “Sorry.” Crouching down, he wedged his hands beneath the body’s torso and lifted. The body flipped, lying face-up as dark blood pooled in the sand. Cassian patted down Gol’s jacket, feeling for any lumps in pockets or secret pouches.

            “What’s this?” He pulled a small electronic device from the interior left pocket. It was a rectangle, only slightly larger than an Imperial credit chit. The burnished bronze finish bore no discernable inscriptions. He handed it to Kaytoo. “Can you run a scan?”

            “Of course.” The droid took the device in one hand while his other folded back, revealing a skinny interfacing unit. He stuck it into the opening, and his photoreceptors defocused. Cassian waited a few moments, searching for anything else of note on Gol’s body. Kaytoo removed the interfacing unit from the device. “It is a credit chit.”

            “Not standard, by the looks of it.”

            “Not Imperial credit, the device seems to have originated on Nal Hutta. It is for gambling.”

            “Can you tell how much it’s worth?”

            “Forty-six thousand, three hundred and thirty-two standard Imperial credits.”

            “Explains why he was celebrating. Come on, Kaytoo, let’s get out of here.”

            “Where are we going?”

            “How do you like gambling?”


	7. Chapter 7

Nel Dira had a plan. It wasn’t a good plan, she knew that. But it was a plan. Her feet splashed about in the shallow water of her cell as she paced impatiently. She had tried sticking her long neck out through the bars to call a guard, but there had been no response. So, she waited.

            What seemed like hours passed. Still no one came. She sat down, ready to accept defeat, at least for today, when she heard something approaching in the distance. Not the plodding footsteps of her porcine guards, or the ballet-dancer steps of the greasy Twi’lik. But a soft, metal _tink-tink-tink_. She knew the sound. It was the sound of those horrid spider-like droids and their spindly legs. She approached the bars and stuck her head through. Down the hall to her left, she could see a shape crawling its way through the darkness, _tink-tink-tink_ -ing as it did so. She shivered involuntarily. She would never get used to those things. But-

            She called out. “Hey!” She motioned frantically with three of her four, slender arms. “You! Uh…” She realized she wasn’t entirely sure what that thing was. “Spider… droid?” She continued to flail her arms, hoping to grab its attention.

            _Tink-tink…tink._

            It turned on its thin legs and stopped in the middle of the hallway. What seemed to be the front of it was now facing toward her, its brain glowed orange in its briny liquid. “Yeah, you!” The Xexto said, pointing. “Over here.” She shook her head vigorously, her neck undulating. The thing _tink-tink_ ed its way closer to her bars. It stood in front of her. She squinted at it, unable to discern anything useful from its robotic appearance. “Uh…” she stammered, “What’s your name?”

            The being stood silently for a moment, before responding with an intense barrage of clicking noises.

            “I’m sorry, I don’t understand that language. Do you speak basic?”

            The being paused once again, then said “Mo gootu?”

            “Sorry, I don’t speak that either.”

            The brain pulsated softly. The being’s vocoder then blurted “Mmyes, is this understandable, then? A real, wotsit, common tongue, yes?”

            Dira smiled. “Yes! Yes, I understand you now.”

            “Good, then. What’s the meaning of this intrusion? You’ve yanked me out of contemplative thought, and there had better be a cracking good reason.”

            “Sorry,” she said, “but I’ve been imprisoned here for the last few weeks, and I was wondering if you would do something for me.”

            “Do something?” The spider took a half step back. “Pah! We B’omarr Monks are beyond the frivolities of ‘doing things.’ Absurd! Laughable!”

            Dira was taken aback. “What? You don’t do anything?”

            “Right, you seem to be fairly uninformed about the whole ‘Monk’ thing. We, _I_ , have ascended beyond corporeal form, into-”

            “-a brain in a jar?”

            “Well, yes, technically. But it’s what it _means_. Symbolically.”

            “And what’s that?”

            “We’ve learned all there is to learn. We’ve become, wotsit, beings of pure knowledge.”

            The gears began to turn in the diplomat’s slender head. It was a long shot, but worth a try. “So, you’ve learned everything, then?”

            “Yes. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be a, as you so eloquently put it, brain in a jar.”

            “Then it would follow that you know everything, correct?”

            “It would, yes.”

            “What would happen if you helped me escape?”

            “Well,” he thought for a moment, “I wouldn’t do that. So, nothing.”

            “Say you did, what would happen?”

            “That’s a preposterous question.”

            “Are you telling me you don’t know?”

            “No, I-” he _tink_ ed backwards. “That doesn’t count.”

            “Oho,” Dira laughed. “Solid excuse right there.”

            “It’s not an excuse.”

            “When has ‘that doesn’t count’ ever not been an excuse?”

            “You’re an absurd creature, and I will no longer subject myself to your ravings.”

            As the spider-creature-thing moved away, Dira called out “Your brain doesn’t deserve that jar!”

            Furious, he rapidly _tink_ ed his way right up to the bars, pointing a spindly leg accusingly. “You take that back!”

            “I’m just saying, you can’t claim to know everything when you spend every day walking the same halls. How long have you been here?”

            He thought for a bit. “Two-hundred and seventy-six cycles, almost exactly.”

            “Who protects the galaxy?”

            The droid-brain scoffed. “Why, the Jedi and the Republic of course! Everyone knows that!”

            “Wrong.”

            “What?”

            “The Jedi were wiped out, and the Republic is no longer. The galaxy is now under jurisdiction of the Galactic Empire.”

            “I have no records of this.”

            “Maybe it’s because your records are two-hundred and seventy-seven-”

            “-six”

            “-six years old. The galaxy’s moved on. You-” she rapped the top of his metal carapace, “are out of date.”

            The orange brain that floated in its jar seemed to twist inward on itself, pondering the situation laid before it. It came to a conclusion. “I could do with an… update, of sorts. How would you propose this be done?”

            “Though the guards seem to have abandoned me for now, they’ll be back. Do you think you could manage to grab the key from one of their belts?”

            “That should be possible.”

            “Also, what’s your name? I probably- probably should’ve asked that earlier.”

            “At one point I was known as Farin. Now I go by _The Enlightened Being of Eternal Knowledge_.”

            “Mind if I just call you Farin?”

            “Not particularly.”

            “Good. Now keep an, uh, eye out for those guards.”


	8. Chapter 8

Cassian Andor squeezed a packet of nutrient liquid into his open mouth, barely gagging at the dusty taste. He opened his eyes and two of his fingers pushed and prodded at the uneven chrome container. They pushed one final bubble of thick liquid through the hastily torn hole at the corner. Satisfied he had gotten most of it, Cassian tossed the wrapper out the open window of the taxi.

            Kaytoo’s head lazily followed the shining packet as the wind caught it, eventually forcing it to the never-ending sand that moved quickly underneath. “Littering? My, you _are_ a rebel.”

            A quick smile touched Cassian’s lips as he rolled his eyes. The last hour-and-a-half had been relatively free of their usual banter; they could never be sure if the surly Weequay up front had really soundproofed the cabin. Up ahead the dunes gave way to more solid ground, brown sandstone chunks jutted up from the flats. Cassian leaned his head out the window. His hair flapped about from the speed and stinging granules kept his eyes at a permanent squint, but sitting atop a rise in the terrain he could make out the distinctive flat dome of Jabba’s Palace.

            He returned his head to the safety of the cabin. “Nearly there.”

            “May I remind you that I am equipped with a state of the art planetary coordinate system?”

            “You may not.”

            “Well.” The dull black droid, crammed uncomfortably into a seat many sizes too small, repeatedly flicked the locking mechanism of the nearest door. “You know,” he said, after a medium-length stretch of silence, “sometimes I wonder why you do not utilize me to my fullest capacity.”

            “What do you mean by that?”

            “I mean that I am a highly advanced military security droid, outfitted with cutting edge sensors and analytical suites, yet often you would prefer to, both metaphorically and literally, stick your head out the window like a badly trained kath hound.”

            “Sometimes you have to fly by instinct, Kaytoo. Those sensors don’t give you the full picture.”

            “They receive the full picture in considerably more wavelengths than you seem to be aware of.”

            “That’s not what I mean. It’s the…” he paused, searching for a better word, “human element.”

            “Do humans possess an additional sensory gland that my records do not indicate?”

            “No, Kaytoo, it’s not specific to humans. Or organics, even. It’s trusting your… core self. Over your senses.”

            “That sounds both irresponsible and stupid.” Kaytoo shook his head slowly.

            Cassian sighed. “It is.”

            The two sat in silence for the remainder of the ride. The cheap speeder-taxi crested the final hill, arriving at a towering brown door cut into the side of a large temple. Cassian lifted the side-door of the enclosed speeder and slid out. He stood alternatingly on one leg, and then the other, attempting to get the blood flowing again. K-2SO unfolded himself from the opposite seat and rose to his rather impressive (if slouched) height. The Weequay barked something in heavily slurred Huttese, Cassian nodded in response and tossed a small bag of coins through the front window.

            “What do you think?” He asked his lumbering companion.

            “It is definitely large.”

            “Very insightful, Kaytoo.”

            The pair stood at the base of the massive door, their forms dwarfed by the mass of rusted metal. With a loud _clank,_ something resembling a robotic eye on a stick shot forward from a hole slightly above Cassian’s head. It spat out a short, sharp question in Huttese.

            “Jif Gruben, and this is-”

            Another clipped sentence. The eye snapped to stare at Kaytoo.

            “This is my droid companion, KX-37. Don’t worry, he’s entirely reprogrammed.”

            “Blast the Empire!” Kaytoo chimed in.

            The eye snapped back to Cassian. It waited expectantly.

            Cassian fished in his jacket pocket and pulled out the credit chit. He held it close to the mechanical eye. “We’re here to try our luck. We came into a windfall recently, and we’d like to multiply it.”

            The eye stared at the chit for a few moments. Wordlessly, it shot back into the hole in the door, which _clanked_ shut. Suddenly, the massive rusted block began to rise.


	9. Chapter 9

Agent Visant’s lips twitched into a satisfied smirk as she looked across the desk at the badge-wearing, tusk-quivering Aqualish who passed as local law enforcement. His empty resistance had quaked and crumbled under the weight of true Imperial authority, as was always the case for backwater sheriffs.

            “Orta ortunga wota,” he said. Roughly translated: “I will cooperate fully, please to not kill me for I am a coward who flees at the first sign of danger and a clear symptom of the disease infecting the galaxy to which the Empire is the cure.”

            A curt “As expected,” was deemed the only necessary reply. The Aqualish flopped his unwieldy flippers onto the control console on his desk, bringing up a myriad of holograms, each depicting various intersections and street corners. He narrowed the selection to only those near _Flordan’s Bar_ , where the missing patrol had been found piled. Many had survived their wounds, but were in no state to give a report. The holo keyed backwards quickly, showing the secondary patrol drag their bodies into place, drop them, and then leave. The bodies sat in a mound for a time, before a collection of scum-types ran into view in reverse. He paused the recording as the large, familiar droid held one Stormtrooper high above the others.

            Agent Visant leaned closer to the holo, its low-quality blue interlacing obscuring much of the detail. One thing was for certain, however: that droid was a KX-series enforcer droid. Imperial make; using Stormtroopers as a blunt weapon was definitely against its programming. The other two figures were much less clear. Both were vaguely humanoid, one’s head was noticeably larger than the other. A Duros, perhaps, or a Neimoidian. The hologram rewound slowly. The two humanoids had been escorted out, and seemed to be at each other’s throats. A barfight gone out of control? Possibly. But why execute Stormtroopers over a simple barfight? And there was still that mystery KX droid. Visant had heard they were somewhat susceptible to reprogramming, but something wasn’t right about this.

            “Can we see where they went?”

            The sheriff played the holo forward in real-time. The KX droid seemed allied with the less bulbous humanoid. The view then changed, a different holo-camera in a different intersection, following the two humanoids. They switched from holo-camera to holo-camera for a time, tracking the speeder pursuit, the less bulbous one’s speeder disappearing entirely for a time. Finally, the larger speeder crashed to the ground in the middle of a crowded square, sending its pilot tumbling into the sand. Crowds dutifully parted around this tableau, and a few minutes later the KX droid came to its owner’s aid. They both soon disappeared from view of any holo-cameras.

            “Where is this?” Visant asked.

            “Karuta nnuota,” the Aqualish replied blubberingly, bringing up a map.

            Agent Visant nodded. She turned to the troopers flanking the door behind her. “Comb this to see if they pop up again.” She stopped in the doorway of the sheriff’s office. “Of course, I expect full cooperation. Those options I presented earlier are still on the table, if you would rather.”

            She wasn’t sure if the squeal that followed her out was any word in particular, but it was easily translatable nonetheless.

            The Patrol Transport that had shuttled her to the surface waited expectantly outside, its repulsors still thrumming. The deep vibrations of the ship resounded in her chest as she made her way up the strangely precarious steps to the passenger hold. The white-clad squad arrayed around the perimeter regrouped, joining her aboard. The orange-pauldroned Sergeant straightened. “Sir.”

            Visant replied with a quick nod. “Take me to the large square to the north of here,” she said into her commlink, “You’ll know it when you see it.” The repulsors thrummed louder as the ship began its ascent. With her free hand, she pressed down on her black cap, securing it against the turbulent winds of takeoff.

            A few minutes later, her commlink blinked. “Is that it, Agent?”

            The Patrol Transport swiveled in the air, presenting her with an unobstructed view of Mos Espa’s entrance plaza. “Yes, that’s the one. Put us down near the center.” She scanned the plaza as her transport skimmed low over the crowds. “There,” she said, pointing. The transport blared its klaxon briefly, warning the masses of civilians out of the way as it landed. Visant lowered her hand from her cap to the blaster at her hip as she stepped off the side, bee-lining for the crashed speeder. The crowd parted in front of her with excited mumbling; no one wanted to be in the way of an ISB Agent with a determined look on their face. Diminutive robed creatures gathered around the wreck, chattering animatedly with each other, yanking off bits of plating and scraps of electronics from the husk. Before she knew it, her blaster was in hand, pointing straight into the air. She squeezed twice and the brown robes scattered into the general bustle.

            What was left of the speeder seemed rather run-of-the-mill. The repulsor drive was completely burned out, taxed beyond its limits, explaining the crash. The hood bore a large dent, presumably from the humanoid who had fallen rather forcefully onto it only an hour or so earlier. Why had he been standing on the hood? Not a safe place to fly a speeder, and he did have his weapon drawn…

            She stepped onto the hood of the speeder and looked straight ahead. Nothing. She considered the burned out repulsor drive and motioned to her Stormtrooper sergeant, who was busy telling onlookers to “Clear the area.”

            “You there. I need you to climb up here with me.”

            The Sergeant nodded in affirmation, and stepped up onto the trashed speeder.

            “Right. Now I’ll need you to put me on your shoulders.”

            The trooper paused for a moment. “Uh, yes sir.” He bent his legs and Agent Visant clambered onto his back, slipping momentarily on the smooth plasteel armor. He straightened up.

            There was something in the distance, now. She could barely see it.

            “Sergeant.”

            “Yes, sir?”

            “Electrobinoculars.”

            “Yes, sir,” he said, releasing one of her legs to grab at his belt. For a second, Visant tipped precariously to the right, but she quickly stuck her arms out to the sides to counteract the imbalance. She grabbed the electrobinoculars from the Stormtrooper’s hand, bringing them up to her eyes and focusing in on the whatever it was in the distance. Partially covered by sand, but still smoking, sat a swoop bike. The target. She handed the electrobinoculars back to the trooper and hopped off his back.

            “Thank you, Sergeant.”

            “Of course, sir.”

            Once they reached the wreckage of the bike, Agent Visant’s feeling about this was proven correct. The sand dyed a dark brown around his body, Tharen Gol, bounty hunter and suspected kidnapper, lay lifeless. She was on the right track. Her commlink blinked.

            “Agent Visant here.”

            “TK-363, sir. We’ve located where two of the perpetrators reentered the city. They’ve since left, though, took a shuttle service out.”

            “Find out where they were taken.”

            “Already called, sir. Reportedly their shuttle was headed to a, uh, Jabba’s Palace.”

            Jabba.

            Blast.


End file.
